The Right Path Read online

  face a firing squad. Give me a cigarette, Dorian.” Her smile and everyday complaint made the subject of smuggling absurd. “So tell me, Morgan, how did you like Nick’s house?”

  ***

  Pink streaks joined sky and sea as dawn bloomed. The air was warm and moist. After a restless night, it was the best of beginnings.

  Morgan strolled along the water’s edge and listened to the first serenading of birds. This was the way she had planned to spend her vacation—strolling along the beach, watching sunrises, relaxing. Isn’t that what her father and Liz had drummed into her head?

  Relax, Morgan. Get off the treadmill for a while. You never give yourself any slack.

  She could almost laugh at the absurdity. But then, neither Liz nor her father had counted on Nicholas Gregoras.

  He was an enigma, and she couldn’t find the key. His involvement in smuggling was like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that wouldn’t quite fit. Morgan had never been able to tolerate half-finished puzzles. She scuffed her sandals in the sand. He was simply not a man she could categorize, and she wanted badly to shake the need to try.

  On the other hand, there was Iona. Morgan saw the puzzle there as well. Alex’s sulky cousin was more than a woman with an annoying personality. There was some inner agitation—something deep and firmly rooted. And Alex knows something of it, she mused. Dorian, too, unless she missed her guess. But what? And how much? Iona’s reaction to talk of smuggling had been a sharp contrast to both Alex’s and Dorian’s. They’d been resigned—even amused. Iona had been terrified. Terrified of discovery? Morgan wondered. But that was absurd.

  Shaking her head, Morgan pushed the thought aside. This morning she was going to do what she had come to Greece to do. Nothing. At least, nothing strenuous. She was going to look for shells, she decided, and after rolling up the hem of her jeans and taking off her sandals, splashed into a shallow inlet.

  They were everywhere. The bank of sand and the shallow water were glistening with them. Some had been crushed underfoot or beaten smooth by the slow current. Crouching, she stuffed the pockets of her jacket with the best of them.

  She noticed the stub of a black cigarette half-buried in the sand. So, Alex comes this way, she thought with a smile. Morgan could see Liz and her husband strolling hand in hand through the shallows.

  As the sun grew higher, Morgan became more engrossed. If only I’d brought a tote, she thought, then shrugged and began to pile shells in a heap to retrieve later. She’d have them in a bowl on her windowsill at home. Then, whenever she was trapped indoors on a cold, rainy afternoon, she could look at them and remember Greek sunshine.

  There were dozens of gulls. They flapped around her, circled, and called out. Morgan found the high, piercing sound the perfect company for a solitary morning. As the time passed, she began to find that inner peace she had experienced so briefly on the moonlit beach.

  The hunt had taken her a good distance from the beach. Glancing up, she saw, with pleasure, the mouth of a cave. It wasn’t large and was nearly hidden from view, but she thought it was entitled to an exploration. With a frown for her white jeans, Morgan decided to take a peek inside the entrance and come back when she was more suitably dressed. She moved to it with the water sloshing up to her calves. Bending down, she tugged another shell from its bed of sand. As her gaze swept over toward the cave, her hand froze.

  The face glistened white in the clear water. Dark eyes stared back at her. Her scream froze in her throat, locked there by terror. She had never seen death before—not unpampered, staring death. Morgan stepped back jerkily, nearly slipping on a rock. As she struggled to regain her balance, her stomach heaved up behind the scream so that she could only gag. Even through the horror, she could feel the pressure of dizziness. She couldn’t faint, not here, not with that only a foot away. She turned and fled.

  She scrambled and spilled over rocks and sand. The only clear thought in her head was to get away. On a dead run, breath ragged, she broke from the concealment of the inlet out to the sickle of beach.

  Hands gripped her. Blindly, Morgan fought against them with the primitive fear that the thing in the inlet had risen up and come after her.

  “Stop it! Damn it, I’ll end up hurting you again. Morgan, stop this. What’s wrong with you?”

  She was being shaken roughly. The voice pierced the first layer of shock. She stared and saw Nick’s face. “Nicholas?” The dizziness was back and she went limp against him as waves of fear and nausea wracked her. Trembling―she couldn’t stop the trembling―but knew she’d be safe now. He was there. “Nicholas,” she managed again as though his name alone was enough to shield her.

  Nick caught her tighter and shook her again. Her face was deathly pale, her skin clammy. He’d seen enough of horror to recognize it in her eyes. In a moment, he knew, she’d faint or be hysterical. He couldn’t allow either.

  “What happened?” he demanded in a voice that commanded an answer.

  Morgan opened her mouth, but found she could only shake her head. She buried her face against his chest in an attempt to block out what she had seen. Her breath was still ragged, coming in dry sobs that wouldn’t allow for words. She’d be safe now, she told herself as she fought the panic. He’d keep her safe.

  “Pull yourself together, Morgan,” Nick ordered curtly, “and tell me what happened.”

  “Can’t . . .” She tried to burrow herself into him.

  In one quick move he jerked her away, shaking her. “I said tell me.” His voice was cold, emotionless. He knew only one way to deal with hysteria, and her breath was still rising in gasps.

  Dazed by the tone of his voice, she tried again, then jolted, clinging to him when she heard the sound of footsteps.

  “Hello. Am I intruding?” Andrew’s cheerful voice came from behind her, but she didn’t look back. The trembling wouldn’t stop.

  Why was he angry with her? Why wasn’t he helping her? The questions whirled in her head as she tried to catch her breath. Oh, God, she needed him to help her.

  “Is something wrong?” Andrew’s tone mirrored both concern and curiosity as he noted Nick’s black expression and Morgan’s shaking form.

  “I’m not sure.” Nick forced himself not to curse his cousin and spoke briefly. “Morgan was running across the beach. I haven’t been able to get anything out of her yet.” He drew her away, his fingers digging roughly in her skin as she tried to hold firm. She saw nothing in his face but cool curiosity. “Now, Morgan”—there was an edge of steel now—“tell me.”

  “Over there.” Her teeth began to chatter as the next stage of reaction set in. Swallowing, she clamped them together while her eyes pleaded with him. His remained hard and relentless on hers. “Near the cove.” The effort of the two short sentences swam in her head. She leaned toward him again. “Nicholas, please.”

  “I’ll have a look.” He grabbed her arms, dragging them away from him, wishing he didn’t see what she was asking of him—knowing he couldn’t give it to her.

  “Don’t leave, please!” Desperate, she grabbed for him again only to be shoved roughly into Andrew’s arms.

  “Damn it, get her calmed down,” Nick bit off, tasting his own fury. She had no right—no right to ask for things he couldn’t give. He had no right—no right to want to give them to her. He swore again, low and pungent under his breath as he turned away.

  “Nicholas!” Morgan struggled out of Andrew’s arms, but Nick was already walking away. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from calling him again. He never looked back.

  Arms encircled her. Not Nick’s. She could feel the gentle comfort of Andrew as he drew her against his chest. Her fingers gripped his sweater. Not Nick. “Here now.” Andrew brought a hand to her hair. “I had hoped to entice you into this position under different circumstances.”

  “Oh, Andrew.” The soft words and tender stroking had the ice of shock breaking into tears. “Andrew, it was so horrible.”

  “Tell me what happened, Morg
an. Say it fast. It’ll be easier then.” His tone was quiet and coaxing as he stroked her hair. Morgan gave a shuddering sigh.

  “There’s a body at the mouth of the cave.”

  “A body!” He drew her back to stare into her face. “Good God! Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes, I saw— I was . . .” She covered her face with her hands a moment until she thought she could speak.

  “Easy, take it easy,” he murmured. “And let it come out.”

  “I was collecting shells in the inlet. I saw the cave. I was going to peek inside, then I . . .” She shuddered once, then continued. “Then I saw the face—under the water.”

  “Oh, Morgan.” He drew her into his arms again and held her tight. He didn’t say any more, but in silence gave her everything she had needed. When the tears stopped, he kept her close.

  Nick moved rapidly across the sand. His frown deepened as he saw Morgan molded in his cousin’s arms. As he watched, Andrew bent down to kiss her hair. A small fire leaped inside him that he smothered quickly.

  “Andrew, take Morgan up to the Theoharis villa and phone the authorities. One of the villagers has had a fatal accident.”

  Nodding, Andrew continued to stroke Morgan’s hair. “Yes, she told me. Terrible that she had to find it.” He swallowed what seemed to be his own revulsion. “Are you coming?”

  Nick looked down as Morgan turned her face to his. He hated the look in her eyes as she stared at him—the blankness, the hurt. She wouldn’t forgive him easily for this. “No, I’ll stay and make sure no one else happens across it. Morgan . . .” He touched her shoulders, detesting himself. There was no response, her eyes were dry now, and empty. “You’ll be all right. Andrew will take you home.”

  Without a word, Morgan turned her face away again.

  His control slipped a bit as Nick shot Andrew a hard glance. “Take care of her.”

  “Of course,” Andrew murmured, puzzled by the tone. “Come on, Morgan, lean on me.”

  Nick watched them mount the beach steps. When they were out of sight, he went back to search the body.

  ***

  Seated in the salon, her horror dulled with Alex’s best brandy, Morgan studied Captain Tripolos of Mitilini’s police department. He was short, his build spreading into comfortable lines that stopped just short of fat. His gray hair was carefully slicked to conceal its sparseness. His eyes were dark and sharp. Through the haze of brandy and shock, Morgan recognized a man with the tenacity of a bulldog.

  “Miss James.” The captain spoke in quick, staccato English. “I hope you understand, I must ask you some questions. It is routine.”

  “Couldn’t it wait?” Andrew was stationed next to Morgan on the sofa. As he spoke he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Miss James has had a nasty shock.”

  “No, Andrew, it’s all right.” Morgan laid her hand over his. “I’d rather be done with it. I understand, Captain.” She gave him a straight look that he admired. “I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  “Efxaristo.” He licked the end of his pencil, settled himself in his chair, and smiled with his mouth only. “Perhaps you could start by telling me exactly what happened this morning, from the time you arose.”

  Morgan began to recount the morning as concisely as she could. She spoke mechanically, with her hands limp and still in her lap. Though her voice trembled once or twice, Tripolos noted that her eyes stayed on his. She was a strong one, he decided, relieved that she wasn’t putting him to the inconvenience of tears or jumbled hysterics.

  “Then I saw him under the water.” Morgan accepted Andrew’s hand with gratitude. “I ran.”

  Tripolos nodded. “You were up very early. Is this your habit?”

  “No. But I woke up and had an impulse to walk on the beach.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No.” A shudder escaped, but her gaze didn’t falter. She went up another notch in Tripolos’s admiration. “Not until Nicholas and Andrew.”

  “Nicholas? Ah, Mr. Gregoras.” He shifted his eyes to where Nick sprawled on a sofa across the room with Alex and Liz. “Had you ever seen the . . . deceased before?”

  “No.” Her hand tightened convulsively on Andrew’s as the white face floated in front of her eyes. With a desperate effort of will, she forced the image away. “I’ve only been here a few days and I haven’t been far from the villa yet.”

  “You’re visiting from America?”

  “Yes.”

  He made a quiet cluck of sympathy. “What a pity a murder had to blight your vacation.”

  “Murder?” Morgan repeated. The word echoed in her head as she stared into Tripolos’s calm eyes. “But I thought . . . wasn’t it an accident?”

  “No.” Tripolos glanced idly down at his notepad. “No, the victim was stabbed—in the back,” he added with distaste. It was as if he considered murder one matter and back-stabbing another. “I hope I won’t have to disturb you again.” He rose and bowed over her hand. “Did you find many shells this morning, Miss James?”

  “Yes I—I gathered quite a few.” She felt compelled to reach in her jacket pocket and produce some. “I thought they were . . . lovely.”

  “Yes.” He smiled, then turned to the others. “I regret we will have to question everyone on their whereabouts from last evening to this morning. Of course,” he continued with a shrug, “we will no doubt find the murder was a result of a village quarrel, but with the body found so close to both villas . . .” He trailed off as he pocketed his pad and pencil. “One of you might recall some small incident that will help settle the matter.”

  Settle the matter? Morgan thought on a wave of hysteria. Settle the matter? But a man’s dead. I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.

  “Easy, Morgan,” Andrew whispered in her ear. “Have another sip.” Gently, he urged the brandy back to her lips.

  “You have our complete cooperation, Captain,” Alex stated, and rose. “It isn’t pleasant for any of us to have such a thing happen so near our homes. It’s particularly upsetting that a guest of mine should have found the man.”

  “I understand, of course.” Tripolos nodded wearily, rubbing a hand over his square chin. “It would be less confusing if I spoke with you one at a time. Perhaps we could use your office?”

  “I’ll show you where it is.” Alex gestured to the door. “You can speak to me first if you like.”

  “Thank you.” Tripolos gave the room a general bow before retreating behind Alex. Morgan watched his slow, measured steps. He’d haunt a man to the grave she thought, and shakily swallowed the rest of the brandy.

  “I need a drink,” Liz announced, moving toward the liquor cabinet. “A double. Anyone else?”

  Nick’s eyes skimmed briefly over Morgan. “Whatever you’re having.” He gestured with his hand, signaling Liz to refill Morgan’s glass.

  “I don’t see why he has to question us.” Iona moved to the bar, too impatient to wait for Liz to pour. “It’s absurd. Alex should have refused. He has enough influence to avoid all of this.” She poured something potent into a tall glass and drank half of it down.

  “There’s no reason for Alex to avoid anything.” Liz handed Nick his drink before splashing another generous portion of brandy into Morgan’s glass. “We have nothing to hide. What can I fix you, Dorian?”

  “Hide? I said nothing about hiding,” Iona retorted as she swirled around the room. “I don’t want to answer that policeman’s silly questions just because she was foolish enough to stumble over some villager’s body,” she said, gesturing toward Morgan.

  “A glass of ouzo will be fine, Liz,” Dorian stated before Liz could fire a retort. His gaze lit on Iona. “I hardly think we can blame Morgan, Iona. We’d have been questioned in any case. As it is, she’s had to deal with finding the man as well as the questions. Thank you, Liz,” he added as she placed a glass in his hand and shot him a grim smile.

  “I cannot stay in this house today.” Iona prowled the room, her movements as jerky as a nervous f
inger on a trigger. “Nicky, let’s go out in your boat.” She stopped and dropped to the arm of his chair.

  “The timing’s bad, Iona. When I’m finished here, I have paperwork to clear up at home.” He sipped his drink and patted her hand. His eyes met Morgan’s briefly, but long enough to recognize condemnation. Damn you, he thought furiously, you have no right to make me feel guilty for doing what I have to do.

  “Oh, Nicky.” Iona’s hand ran up his arm. “I’ll go mad if I stay here today. Please, a few hours on the sea?”

  Nick sighed in capitulation while inside he fretted against a leash that was too long, and too strong, for him to break. He had reason to agree, and couldn’t let Morgan’s blank stare change the course he’d already taken. “All right, later this afternoon.”

  Iona smiled into her drink.

  The endless questioning continued. Liz slipped out as Alex came back in. And the waiting went on. Conversation came in fits and starts, conducted in undertones. As Andrew left the room for his conference, Nick wandered to Morgan’s new station by the window.

  “I want to talk to you.” His tone was quiet, with the steel under it. When he put his hand over hers, she jerked it away.

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Deliberately, he slipped his hands into his pockets. She was still pale. The brandy had steadied her but hadn’t brought the color back to her cheeks. “It’s necessary, Morgan. At the moment, I haven’t the opportunity to argue about it.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “We’ll go for a drive when the captain’s finished. You need to get away from here for a while.”